Why She Sleeps
by Romantic Silence
Summary: Harry contemplates over Hermione's sleeping habits.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Foreword**: I don't know what brought this story about, but I decided to write it anyway. It's a little different from what I normally write, but I hope it would be enjoyable for you all.

* * *

**Why She Sleeps**

By Romantic Silence

* * *

For almost as long as Harry had known Hermione, she had always been the first one to be up in the morning. He could not remember any time he woke up early (for Quidditch practice, of course) and did not find Hermione already wide awake, eager to start the day with him. He never begrudged her for being an early-riser, having been a bit of one himself to avoid the Dursleys waking him up through use of force.

This habit of hers also applied during the weekends as well, one of the few occasions that was okay to have a lie-in. Hermione would always active bright and early, never noticing the glares she received from others that were definitely _not _morning people. Harry once had a fleeting thought long ago that Hermione was some sort of automaton that never needed to sleep. Naturally, this theory was proven false in third year when Harry noticed how haggard Hermione had become on account of her numerous classes.

This all changed after the war and Voldemort was vanquished. Hermione began to sleep a lot more. If left alone, she would sleep through the entire day. Her daily schedule consisted of several nap breaks spread throughout the day. It was like she was trying to catch up all the sleep she missed over the years. Fortunately, it was not a big cause for concern. Despite her newfound love for sleep, Hermione was still her productive self—she always got all of her responsibilities and obligations done. For her parents and friends, it was just _strange _to see Hermione habits just change abruptly.

Harry, her best-friend-turned-husband (they married only a few months after the last battle), on the other hand, was not worried. In fact, he thought it was a tad adorable. She was always domineering, ready to give out orders to ensure that things happen according to plan. As Ron described her before, Hermione was brilliant, but scary. Hermione accepted nothing but perfection.

But when she was asleep, all traces of her bossy attitude simply melted away. Her wild curls would be a mess, a strand or two lazing about between or in front of her eyes. Hermione's eyebrows, usually furrowed in concentration, would relax and softly express contentment. With how busy Hermione was being a revolutionary force of reckoning in the Ministry of Magic, Harry saw her less and less relaxed while awake. There was something to do.

However, Harry knew a secret that Hermione's parents and friends—including their best friend, Ron—would never find out. When Harry slept, he dreamt nightmares—the horrible times during the war. He knew that everything was over, but his mind could not stop from making him relive his worst memories. Since marrying Hermione and sharing a bed with her, he found that he was experiencing less and less of these terrible dreams. It now only came every month or so and Harry hoped that, with time, it would go away completely. Hermione was the opposite.

Hermione had a brilliant mind and amazing memory, but it was these traits that made her have flashbacks of the war. She was able to control herself from reacting to them in public, but when they were in the comfort of their privacy at home, Hermione broke down and sobbed in his arms. Harry would make a cuppa and give it to Hermione, calming her down and sending her off to sleep. It was when she slept that she never had to relive the horrors of the war. Harry could not fault Hermione for wanting to sleep—to escape.

Harry spared a glance at the clock beside their bed and read that it was now a little past ten in the morning. That was enough Hermione-admiring for now. He moved to gently prod Hermione awake, but he remembered that it was Sunday; he could afford letting her sleep for a couple more minutes.

He removed bundles upon bundles of pillows off of him along with the intricately-woven comforter they bought in a bazaar during their brief honeymoon. Hermione was not like other women where they obsessed with how their home looked, but one thing she insisted when they moved in together was that their bed had to be large—king size! He could argue with her about the color of the drapes, but he could not argue about the bed. So he let her have a large bed. Then when it came to time to decorate it, Hermione covered it with pillows—enough pillows to make it appear as if they lived in a Sultan's bedchamber.

Still, it made Hermione happy and that was all that mattered. He left the bedroom and entered the kitchen of their flat. It was a comfortable place to live in and it provided a quaint hideaway from public if they ever needed it. When asked why he didn't move into Godric's Hollow or Grimmauld Place, Harry would reply that there were too many bad memories haunting both places—who would want to live in the house their parents were murdered in or the once home of a violent pureblood supremacist family?

Harry began cooking breakfast, mentally making note of what their plans were today. He decided to make a light meal, the fact that they would be having lunch with Hermione's parents in a few hours attributing to his decision. From the kitchen, Harry could hear Hermione moving about in bed; she was still asleep, but she could be very active when she slept, having been on the receiving end of her sleep-induced kicks on more than one occasion.

However, life wasn't always perfect for him or her despite what their friends and family may say about them. There were some days where Harry was plagued with insecurity about his wife and her sleeping habit. He knew Hermione loved him very much, but on the days he doubted, Harry wondered if Hermione chose to slumber frequently because he was unable to bring the comfort she needed. It was a silly, irrational thought, but a thought that would haunt him from time to time.

He shared Hermione how he felt and she would assure him that it was not the case. She could never remember her dreams, but Hermione always told him that he was always in them somehow. She even said that whenever he felt insecure, he was welcome to probe through her mind as she slept to see those dreams for himself. Of course, Harry never allowed himself to. He trusted Hermione and would never doubt her. It helped that, though infrequent, he heard her whisper his name when they were in bed.

After placing his and Hermione's breakfast on the table, Harry walked back into the kitchen to turn off the stove. He searched the refrigerator for pumpkin juice (their little slice of Hogwarts) and was pleased to find that there was some left. Harry finished the final touches of breakfast and returned to the bedroom to begin his arduous quest to wake up his wife.

"Hermione, it's time to wake up," he greeted her loudly. Naturally, simply speaking louder was not enough to wake up his sleeping beauty. Harry went to her side of the bed and began shaking her lightly. "Dear, wake up and eat your breakfast. Remember how you said you wanted to visit Diagon Alley today to buy Christmas presents?" Hermione always planned what to get everyone _months _in advance; it was justified considering how large a list they have for family and friends.

"Harry," she mumbled grumpily, "go 'way." She took a pillow and placed it over her head, doing her best to ignore him.

Harry smiled and chuckled. If Hermione was awake enough to try and deflect his efforts, then he had already won the battle. Instead of prodding her further, he lifted the pillow covering her head and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "Feel free to go back to bed, but I'm going to be eating your breakfast. You can make your own when you wake up."

Contrary to popular belief, Hermione could not do _everything _she sets her mind to. There were two things she was absolutely rubbish at and that was flying and cooking. No matter how hard she tried, Hermione could never succeed in those two fields. Fortunately, she married a man who could do both well enough for the both of them. There was a terse silence before Hermione wearily replied, "Okay…"

Having won their battle of wills, Harry left the bedroom to let Hermione start her morning routine. He took his seat at the table and began eating. After hearing a flush come from loo, Hermione came trudging along. She still appeared drowsy, her typical proper form giving way to a lazy, slouching posture. He loved seeing her like this, only he was able to see _this _Hermione.

"Slept well?" Harry asked casually between bites.

Hermione took her seat and didn't answer him. As she was about to dig into her food, she paused. She looked up at her husband and her lips formed a shy smile. "Actually, I did. I… actually remember the dream I was having."

"Oh?" He was surprised; she never did. "Was it good?"

She nodded, sighing wistfully. "It was wonderful. It was about the two of us, Harry…"

He placed his utensils down, enraptured by Hermione. He could eat later.

"It was so magnificent. We were about eleven or twelve—very young. We were in Hogwarts too. I don't think it was a memory though because I distinctly remember that our first kiss was when we were in our fifth year, not first or second." She beamed happily at the memory of that time. It had been a friendly kiss then, but it was still a kiss they both shared. "I think I dreamt about what it would be like if none of those dangerous events ever happened while we were in school."

"I remember it was because of one dangerous event that led us to being best friends," he said, grinning impishly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was far from annoyed. "Oh, I know. But it was nice to dream what could have been if we were best friends but with… no Voldemort… no Death Eaters… no war…" She trailed off wistfully.

Harry looked at her, worry clouding his eyes. Insecurity tugged at his heart again, making him wonder if he was providing enough for her. When he looked up back at her, he found her staring back at him with a piercing gaze, scolding him. _You should know better, Harry—I love our life now and I would not give up anything for it._ He smiled at her sheepishly; he received the message thoroughly.

"Is that all you can remember?"

"Yes." She nodded thoughtfully. "But I think it's what I've been dreaming for quite some time."

Their conversation about her dreams ended there and they moved on to other topics. Once they finished their breakfast, they bathed, dressed, and started their day. Lunch with Hermione's parents was a pleasant affair despite her mother persistently asking when she can expect grandchildren. After lunch, they shopped in Diagon Alley and visited George and Ron at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes until it was time for the weekly Sunday dinner at the Burrow.

Dinner at the Burrow was always chaotic, but no one minded. With all their children having left the nest, it was good for Arthur and Molly to see the Burrow come alive again (despite at least one of their children visiting every day). Harry and Hermione shudder to think what it would be like when they all started having children—forget having a moment of peace at the Burrow!

Once dinner was over, Harry and Hermione returned home and settled for the night. Tomorrow brought another workweek.

"Good night, Harry." Hermione tiredly leaned forward and gave her husband his good-night kiss. "I'll see you in the morning, love."

Harry returned the kiss and yawned loudly shortly afterwards. "Night, 'Mione."

As Hermione fell asleep, Harry remained awake. His thoughts returned back to that morning when his wife told him about her dreams. Harry wished he wasn't afraid of closing his eyes—to risk seeing the horrible image of Voldemort once again. Why could he not dream of pleasant things like her? If her dreams could be her escape, why could it not be his as well?

And with those questions circulating in his mind, Harry closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

**Afterword**: So, thoughts? I enjoyed writing this, but I'm unsure how I truly feel about this piece just yet.


End file.
